


The Rushed Wedding of Winterfell

by reliquexia



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms, A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: F/M, Wedding, rushed wedding
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-04
Updated: 2016-07-04
Packaged: 2018-07-20 03:29:42
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 613
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7388734
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/reliquexia/pseuds/reliquexia
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>So I have a headcanon that these two would be married under a time restraint, and it would be in the worst possible time, the halls would be a mess, they wouldn’t have anything to wear, and SassyBran would appear. But it would be so sweet.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Rushed Wedding of Winterfell

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Abi117](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Abi117/gifts).



> This was from a prompt by abi117 on tumblr
> 
> "It would be lovely if you could write the wedding? They get married in the godswood and he’s absolutely happy because he finally have a home and that home is Sansa <3"

A rushed wedding is a blessed marriage. Nothing could be more true than the wedding of the Lord and Lady of Winterfell. Spur of the moment, a rash decision, and ultimately one that kept the pair up late at night. Marriage was one way to keep Sansa from the grasp of all the local lords who played for her hand, but it was also a way to show the North their King is not an untried boy. He was a man of the North, as true as his uncle before him. 

They were married as per the customs of the North. Sansa hurriedly worked all day with her maids to stitch a dull red dragon onto a black Night’s Watch cloak. The older inhabitants of the castle lengthened the prettiest unworn dress of a highborn handmaiden to fit the future Queen seeing as there was no way one could be made by sundown. Her ladies roughly stitched a Wolf along her own cloak, too light for the weather outside. 

It was decided that Bran would give her away. Never too far from a heart tree, as soon as the decision was made, he hastily wrote out the vows for Jon and himself, practicing them over and over again all day. But in the end it was Sansa who would forget hers. There was a sudden shock to seeing her to-be husband clothed so finely under the weirwood. She did not even think he had the sense to dress up outside of the clean cut cloak from the Watch. But there he stood, beard trimmed, hair cut short and princely that it reminded her of Robb before she left Winterfell. 

As Bran and Jon spoke their sequences, she felt nervous and unprepared, thumbing the simple gold necklace Sansa had left over, and the even more bare ear pieces, that she new realized looked more like wrinkled peas than wedding jewelry. She was drawn out of her thoughts when her brother asked her again, less seriously, and more impatient “Lady Sansa, will you take this man?” He looked like he would roll his eyes at his sister if he could. She smiled at his irritation, ruffling his hair with love. 

“Yes,” she said, clasping her hands together with Jon’s.

“No, Sansa, you have to say ‘I take this man’ or it does not count,” her last true brother whispered annoyed that all his efforts to make things perfect seemed to be for naught. Yet as the blushing bride laughed and repeated the corrected phrases to her king, Jon cracked his first smile, as they began to kneel together. Things would never be perfect. Try as you might, but things always occurred the way they were meant to be, and the reason the trio survived so long was because they made the best of it. They were survivors, the last of the pack.

As they sat silent in prayer, Jon’s warm fingers entwined with Sansa, they wished for safety, and peace. It was the first time either had payed their dues to the Old Gods, and dreams of romance and fanfayre ended with their childhoods. But as Jon removed his wife’s Stark cloak, and covered her in his sigil, a slyer grin crept up on her lips as their eyes connected, in reaction to her gasp as his fingers brushed longer than deemed appropriate along her pink neckline.

He had a home, a name, and now a woman who he would fight all the wars for. And in the strangest stroke of fate, quicker than his bride’s face fading to an impassive look of steel before her bannerman, he was blessed with the promise of love.

**Author's Note:**

> If anyone else has prompts send them to Jonsa-gives-me-life on tumblr!


End file.
